


Drabbles & One-shots

by CraftRose



Category: Big Bang (Band), EXO (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CraftRose/pseuds/CraftRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of k-pop one-shots and drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suga/Reader - Drunk Text

You pace the entryway of your tiny one-bedroom apartment. The distant rhythm of city traffic fills the silence, as you check the time on your phone. It’s one o’clock in the morning. You’re normally in bed by ten, reading glasses propped on the bridge of your nose as you feverishly turn the pages of a trashy romance novel, but a slew of drunk texts sent to your phone roughly twenty minutes ago, has thrown a monkey wrench into your  — slightly pathetic — nightly routine.

> _Min Yoongi: Are ypu awake?_  
>  _Min Yoongi: you*_  
>  You: Barely. What’s up?  
>  _Min Yoongi: Can I see you right no?_  
>  _Min Yoongi: nor*_  
>  _Min Yoongi: now**_  
>  You: It’s past midnight, sweg boi.  
>  You: Hold on; aren’t you at the album release party?  
>  _Min Yoongi: No I’m in a_  
>  _Min Yoongi: taxi_  
>  _Min Yoongi: what’s your address_  
>  You: Slow down haha. I haven’t even agreed to see you yet.  
>  _Min Yoongi: Please, noona._  
>  You: Lol what’s up with you?  
>  You: Did something happen at the party?  
>  _Min Yoongi: Address.  
>  _ You: Seriously?  
>  You: Okay, fine. One second.

You skim the text conversation for the dozenth time, a doubtful knot in your chest. Noona, noona, noona … In the year you’ve known Min Yoongi, never once has he referred to you as noona. The fact that he’s texting you in the middle of the night is weird enough; the addition of clumsy, drunken pleas to see you, on the other hand, is downright sketchy.

It could be that he simply had too much to drink and needs a place to crash for the night, but why not his girlfriend’s apartment? She lives close by, doesn’t she?

The answer to that question is interrupted by your intercom.

“How does this shit work …” His hoarse, lispy voice tears through the quiet. “Fuck, can you hear me? Is this the right number?”

You rush to the intercom and press the reply button. “Yes, just wait. I’m going to let you in. Open the door when you hear the buzzing sound, okay?”

His response is crackly and inaudible, but the words, “Hurry … cold … raining …”  manage to wriggle their way through the intercom system.

Without another second of hesitation, you buzz him in. It’s the middle of February, so the testy, smart-mouth rapper must be freezing his ass off outside. You haven’t a clue as to why he’s there in the first place. He should be partying the night away with the other boys, celebrating the release of Bangtan’s new mini album. Speaking of album release parties, your ex-boyfriend Namjoon had taken you to the last one, which, incidentally enough, was the night you were introduced to Yoongi.

In those days, he was Suga, the Daegu-born rapper with a chip on his shoulder and a point to prove, but he eventually warmed up to you a little bit.

“Y/N?” There’s a knock on your door. “Y/N? I’m here.”

Your insides jump at the sound of his voice and you race to the door to open it, only to hesitate. The cold metal doorknob grazes your fingertips as an unsettling thought snakes its way to the forefront of your mind. _What would Namjoon think?_ There’s nothing going on between you and Yoongi. He probably just needs a place to crash, but still. It’s the middle of the night, he has many friends who live in the area, and you were in a relationship with his dongsaeng not that long ago.

“Fuck it,” you say out loud, unlocking the door and swinging it open to find him on the other side, his clothes and hair soaked from the rain.

He flicks his eyes up to look at you, wordlessly.  

“Oh, my God. Yoongi-yah, are you okay?” you ask, hurriedly waving him in.

“I’m fine,” he tells you, blinking hazily. “Just a little wet.”

“You’re drenched,” you say, helping him out of his coat. Underneath, he’s wearing a black v-neck sweater and a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knees. “I’ll get you a towel, okay? You must be freezing.”

Without a word, he kicks off his wet shoes and follows you into the living room. It’s a cute, cozy space, definitely made for no more than one person, but it’s warm, and in that moment, warmth is all that matters. You flick the electric fireplace on, rarely having used it since you moved into the building about six months ago. Right away, the walls and furniture are aglow.

“Sorry about the mess,” you say, quickly rearranging some things to make room for him. “I wasn’t really expecting anyone tonight.”

He doesn’t say anything, willing you to dash out of the room and dash back in with a fluffy white towel and a warm blanket. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“Nonsense,” you cut in, taking Yoongi by the elbow and plunking him down on the sofa. “Okay, let’s start with that head.”

He looks at you, startled. “Uh —”

You jerk the towel open.

“Right,” he mutters, a slightly warm hue to his cheeks as he angles his head toward you. “Sorry for showing up like this, by the way,” his says, voice muffled.

“There’s no need to apologize,” you assure him, rubbing the moisture from his hair in tight circles. “You had a good time at the party and you need a place to crash for the night. We’ve all been there. God knows I have …”

He snorts. “I remember those days.”

“Staying up all night, partying with Namjoon and his other friends,” you recall, a faint smile tugging at the ends of your lips before you shake it off. “It’s crazy to think how long it’s been.” The memories flood your subconscious and you gradually stop rubbing.

There’s a moment of silence, after which Yoongi bobs his head out from under the towel. His eyes flick up, and he looks at you carefully. “You okay?”

Your mouth hangs open for a second before any words come out. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just …” Your words trail off as you remember the night you and Namjoon called it quits. It was two months ago, and he was seated on that very couch, begging you to give him a second chance. “I need a drink,” you deplore, sinking down on the couch, beside Yoongi.

“Do you have anything?” he asks.

You run your hands through your hair, momentarily lost. “I think I have a bottle of wine in the kitchen somewhere, but … it’s okay. You’ve already had plenty to drink, haven’t you? _Drunkenly calling me noona and what not_.”

He smirks. “Worked like a charm.”

You gape at him. “Wait, so you’re not actually drunk?”

“I was before,” he explains. “The rain kind of sobered me up, though.”

“Right,” you nod. “Well, I mean … drinking again probably isn’t a good idea.”

He shrugs. “I’m down if you are.”

“Isn’t it bad for your voice?”

“Yeah, probably, but fuck it.”

You contemplate reasoning with him further, but the bottle of wine in your kitchen is practically calling out to you. “Uh … okay. I’ll be back in a second,” you decide, dashing into the kitchen and grabbing the necessary items as well as some snacks to munch on. You don’t have class until noon tomorrow; staying up late shouldn’t be a problem.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had red wine,” Yoongi mentions, holding the wine glasses as you fill them up about a third of the way.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Bang PD-nim has never coaxed you into trying some at dinner?”

“Oh, he’s tried,” the younger boy relays. “I usually just have beer, though.”

“Spoken like a true lightweight,” you laugh, taking a seat. “So, um … how was the party?”

“It was alright,” he shrugs, licking his lips after the first sip. “Hey, this stuff isn’t that bad.”  

“I would hope so. It cost me a fort —” Your jaw drops as he knocks back the entire glass. “Holy shit.”

The young rapper pours himself another glass as you watch, open-mouthed.

“You might want to take it easy, Yoongi-yah. Red wine is strong.” As expected, your warning falls on deaf ears. You suddenly clue in. “Did something happen tonight?”

He wipes his lips after another mouthful; this one smaller. “What do you mean?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see the truth. “Is everything okay?” you cautiously ask. “I don’t mean to pry or anything, but you haven’t mentioned Euna since you got here and —”

“We broke up,” he casually interjects. 

Your throat clenches around the last half of your sentence. “I see.”

The silence that follows is gradual, but slightly worrying.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs. “What’s there to talk about? Euna thought I was cheating on her, so she started cheating on me. Simple.”

“ _Were_ you cheating on her?”

He looks at you, rather indignantly. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” you truthfully answer. “You show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night, all wet and depressed-looking, knock that wine back like it’s water, and expect me not to ask ques —”

Yoongi claps a hand over your mouth, completely and utterly careless as to the wild shock in your eyes. “You’re my friend and I respect you, but you really need to shut up sometimes,” he says, dropping his hand a few seconds later. “I wasn’t cheating on her. I would never cheat. I’m not that kind of guy.”

You listen carefully, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear and ending with a shrug.

“People do crazy things in relationships. You don’t have to be ‘that kind of guy’ to make mistakes. Shit happens.”

“Wait, you mean to say —” In a rare show of emotion, his eyes shoot all the way open. “That’s why you broke up with Namjoon? He _cheated_ on you?”

You smile humourlessly, drowning the dull ache in your chest with a sip of wine. “Pretty wild, isn’t it?”

Yoongi does nothing but look at you, his expression teetering between empathy and anger. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t be. It happened months ago. I’m over it,” you say. “I mean, I probably would have gotten over it a lot sooner, if I didn’t have to see him all the time, but I guess that’s the price I have to pay for having Jackson as a friend. He and Namjoon are inseparable these days.”  

“Right, right,” Yoongi nods. “You and Jackson grew up together in Hong Kong. He introduced you to Namjoon that first time, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but enough about that old story,” you decide, leaning back on the sofa. “Tell me, Min Yoongi, why did your girlfriend think you were cheating on her?”

He nearly chokes. “Straight to the point, then.”

“Eh, why not? I’ve already liquored you up. Might as well take advantage of it.”

“You’re a horrible influence.”

“Yes, I know, but I’ve had a boring week. Entertain me, will you?”

Yoongi glares at you, lazily. “Sometimes I wonder why we’re friends.”

“Probably because we’re both cynical bastards,” you joke. “Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

You gulp down another sip of wine, tossing a curious look at him as you swallow. “I … I mean you don’t have to tell me, I just thought that since you’re here and since we’re sharing relationship woes, it might be alright if —”

“She thought I was fucking you behind her back.”

You freeze, mouth agape.

For a moment he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to let his words marinate in the narrow gap between you two. Suddenly, the sofa isn’t big enough, and suddenly, the air is too thick.

“I think you —”

“I’m sorry for —”

“ — should go.”

“ — dropping that on you.”

The words spill out before you can stop them, and then you just stare at each other.

Yoongi stands. “You’re right,” he nods. “I shouldn’t have come, and I really should not have told you that.”

“Hold on a sec.” You shoot up beside him, rocking back an inch when you realize how close you are. It takes a moment for you to shake it off. “You told her she was wrong, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, Y/N.”

“Why didn’t she believe you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“No, stop. Girls don’t just suspect things like that out of nowhere. You _must_ have an inkling as to why she didn’t bel —”

“I don’t,” he interrupts, a little stern now. “Trust me, Y/N, if I had the slightest inkling as to why she thought I had feelings for you, I would have —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” You shake your head. “I thought it was just fucking. Now you’re trying to tell me there were feelings involved?”

Yoongi freezes up. “We — I don’t know,” he blurts, turning around. “I should leave. I’m sorry for this, Y/N. Really.”

The shuffle of footsteps fills your ears as you stand there, utterly dumbfounded. It’s raining harder than ever, and you even hear a clap of thunder in the distance. For a second, the walls and windows of your apartment flash blue, but it doesn’t last. You quickly inhale, the oxygen returning to your brain as you glance over to find him by the door.

“Yoongi-yah, wait!”

His back is turned and he’s already halfway through the door.

“Wait!” you holler, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

The look in his eyes is blank, indecipherable. “Home.”

You breathe deeply, the adrenaline in your veins slowly fading. “Just like that?”

The young rapper removes your hand from his shoulder and simply nods. One very curt, business-like nod, that leaves your stomach in knots. “I shouldn’t have come.”

His words weigh heavily in the five or so inches between you two. You almost can’t believe this is what it has come down to. “You can’t be serious.  _I shouldn’t have come_ ,” you mimic in stupid voice. “You’re not actually trying to pull that shit on me, are you?”

“What do you want me to say?”

You toss your arms in the air. “Oh, I don’t know, _anything_ besides that?”

“I’ve already said too much, Y/N.”

“No, what you’ve done is dance around the truth for the past half hour. Tell me, Yoongi, why did you come here in the first place?” You don’t even wait for an answer, you just keep going. “Was it maybe because your girlfriend was onto something? Or was it because you didn’t know, but you were interested in finding out?”

His cheeks redden at the second question. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yeah, maybe I am. So, what?” you ask, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. “While we’re on the subject, why have you never called me noona until tonight, huh?”

“Y/N … stop.”

“Why did you do it? To absolve yourself of the guilt? Is that it? I’m like a sister to you, but only when it’s convenient?”

Yoongi stares at you, his bottom lip trembling just a little. You can’t tell if he’s about to cry or curse you into oblivion, but you quickly learn the answer.

He grabs you by the collar of your flannel pyjamas and slams your back against the door, his eyes dark like the bottom of the ocean, and just at treacherous. You open your mouth to protest, but he smothers the first syllable with his lips. The words you were going to say suddenly vanish, and for a moment you stand there, completely at his mercy. His lips are soft and warm, and the taste of red wine is caught in his breath. You imagine it’s caught in yours, too, but he doesn’t seem to care.

The second his tongue slides into your mouth, your head starts spinning in circles. You can’t think straight, you can barely keep your balance.

His body is pressed against yours, the damp fabric of his sweater and jeans soaking into your pyjamas as he holds you there, kissing you as though the world is going to end tomorrow.

Your brain is telling you to fight it, to shove him off and slap him across the face for doing something so reckless and stupid, but the second you wriggle your arms free, he pulls back, and your heart sinks.

The breath that you’ve been holding in, finally escapes. For a good, long moment, you simply stare at him, the shame and the guilt laced deeply into his dark brown eyes as he backs away. Your back stays pressed against the door, and your heart rate quickens. His lips are swollen, his clothes are askew, and his hair is dry and tangled.

He can barely look at you.

“There. Maybe now you’ll stop asking questions you don’t want to know the ans —”

A firm, tight slap reverberates within the walls of your apartment as you raise a hand to him, the reddish outline of your palm and fingers, flush against his ivory complexion. His head turns from the impact but he doesn’t say anything; he simply stands there as if ready for another. It drives you mental, to the point that you get ready to slap him again, but it’s not as easy as that, is it?

You hesitate.

The frustrated tears you’ve been holding back, suddenly fall.

“H-how long?” you ask, voice breaking.  

His Adam’s apple drops as he swallows deeply, forcing the doubt and the lingering ache down his throat. “You don’t want to know.”

“How long?” you ask again, steadier this time. “Answer me, Yoongi-yah. How long have you felt this way?”

Finally he looks at you, the hardness in his eyes tapering away as a droplet of anger and confusion slides down your cheek. “You’re crying,” he observes.

You hurriedly wipe the tear away. “So? I’m not allowed to cry now, is that it? Do I have to ask your permission to c — ?”

Yoongi grabs you by the wrist, and cuts you off. “For God’s sake, Y/N, will you shut the fuck up for just _one_ second?” he pleads, tightening his hold on you, only to loosen it moments later. “You want to know the truth? Fine. I-I’ve always wanted you. From the moment Namjoon first  introduced us, I’ve wanted you. Okay? Will that do, or would you prefer I go into detail about all the sleepless nights I’ve spent thinking about you, praying that I’d have the strength to wake up one day and _forget_ you?”

The silence that follows is swift but temporary.

“Of course Namjoon had to pick a crude, cynical, beautiful disaster like you …” he utters, thinking out loud. “Of course I couldn’t meet you first.”

His confession sweeps through you like a gust of wintry air.

He releases you, breathing out. “I’ll go now,” he says. “ … I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Your heart drops, and you look up at him. “Wait.” The sound of your voice tears a hole through the dull quiet, and the one they call Suga comes to a halt, his hand on the doorknob. Though you can’t see his face, you can sense his trepidation. “Just … wait.” You place your hands on his shoulders and rub them down the length of his arms.

His muscles tense up. “Y/N …”

You ignore his protest and turn him around, forcing him to look you in the eyes as the words come pouring out. “Stay still,” you tell him, softly. “Don’t move.”

There’s a quiver of doubt along his bottom lip, but you catch it in a kiss.

Yoongi shivers against you, shock flowing through his veins as your lips move swiftly against his. It’s slow, sensual kiss, and yet you’re breathless in a matter of seconds. A voice in the back of your head is telling you no good can come from this, and for a second you consider pulling back while you still can, but the moment Yoongi starts kissing you back with his soft, desperate motions, you lose all train of thought.

He weaves his hands through your hair, and you sling your arms around his neck as he spins you around and presses you firmly against the door again. Within seconds, your movements grow less patient and less concise. You grab handfuls of his damp sweater, the smell of fresh rain and alcohol filling your nostrils with each breath. It’s a slow, torturous grind, and it consumes you.

You don’t even make it to the bedroom.

Yoongi lifts you up, surprisingly strong for his size, and carries you to the sofa where this labyrinth of a night had begun only an hour ago. The cushions mould to every curve of your body as you lay there, watching him tug the sweater off from over his head. You soon realize you’ve never seen him shirtless before. His torso is thin and hauntingly white, but in a beautiful way.

The echoes of his earlier confession ricochet between your bodies as he sweeps you up in another kiss. He’s on top of you now, wedged in between your legs. You wrap them around his waist to accommodate him, and quickly toss your head back as he grinds against you. His jeans are still on, but your pyjama bottoms are thin and you feel everything.

It courses through your veins like fire, the feeling of him pressed so firmly against your core.

You feel as if you’re about to faint just from sheer pleasure, but the smoothness of his lips on your neck brings you back to reality. Your fingers weave through his hair and your breathing turns shallow as he carefully unbuttons your pyjama top, kissing and nipping at your soft skin the entire way down.

There will be marks come morning, but you don’t care. You want him to take your clothes off as soon as possible, and he abides by those silent pleas. Your pyjama top is still on, but he can see your bra now. It’s lacy and white, and your dusky nipples are stiff against the delicate material.

For a moment he is speechless, drinking every inch of you in before looking you in the eyes. Your chest rises and falls with anticipation, and your breathing is unsteady, overwhelmed by this deep, burning desire for him to fuck you on that couch. You’ve never thought of him this way before, but the image of him hovering over you like this, his lips swollen from the way he kissed you so roughly against the door, and his hair all scruffy and faded from the rain, is quite possibly the sexiest thing you have ever seen.

You hold your breath as he comes down to kiss you again, and release as he presses his lips against yours, smoothly. While this is happening, he brushes a hand down your front and unhooks the front clasp of your bra, loosening the fabric and freeing your breasts as he slowly makes his way down.

The wet heat of his mouth envelops your nipple, and he quickly brushes his tongue over the tip, sucking gently on it before releasing it with a soft pop.

You moan from the back of your throat, running your fingers through his hair, and desperately trying to catch your breath as he continues licking, sucking and flicking your nipples until you’re whimpering beneath him. Without further ado, he slides a hand under the waistband of your pyjama bottoms and slips past your panties, a sly smile on his lips as he feels how wet they are. When he finally grazes your clit with his fingertips, rubbing it over and then under the tiny hood, you twitch and cry out for him.

“Yoongi-yah, p-please,” You all but beg. “I-I n-need you.”

“Where do you need me?” he swiftly asks.

You bite your bottom lip, looking down at him as he pleasures your body, inch by torturous inch. The answer to his question is on the tip of your tongue, but you choose to communicate it through action rather than words. You push him off and he looks at you, a flicker of shock in his eyes as you shimmy out of all your clothes and then seat yourself on top of him, dipping your head into the curve of his neck and kissing him there.

“I need you here,” You murmur into his ear, teasing him little by little as you rotate your hips, stimulating the erection tucked in his jeans. “Like this.”

“Y/N …”

When you’re sure he can’t take the torture anymore, you climb down his body and position yourself between his knees, carefully undoing his button and dragging the zipper down.

He looks down at you, already fucked up out of his mind.  

You can tell by the way his breathing quickly changes, that he’s thought about this before. He’s thought about your lips around his cock, and even just the idea of that makes you wet. Yoongi has always been so quiet and reserved, speaking only when he is spoken to, but mostly, when someone needs a reality check. The first time you met him, you couldn’t believe he was younger than you by two whole years, but in this particular moment, you relish the experience you have over him.

Without a moment left to waste, you tug his jeans down just a few inches and reach inside, wrapping your hand around his cock and pulling it out from underneath his boxers. He chokes back a breath, delirious as he watches you blow on the tip. It’s all flushed and hard, topped with pre-cum.

You can’t wait to taste it.

“Y/N …” he says again. “You’re killing me.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up, into a smirk. You want to make him beg for it but you can barely handle waiting yourself. A second of silence hovers between you two, before you dip your head down and flatten your tongue against the base of his erect cock, licking all the way up and then wrapping your lips around the tip, giving him a deep, excruciatingly slow suck.

He shivers against you. “F-fuck.”

You begin rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure. The way he sucks in with each breath, voicing your name on the tail end of each moan, has you fucked up in ways no man has ever made you feel prior to him. You love the size of his cock, the taste of it, the way his girth is just wide enough to make the corners of your mouth sting a little as you go down on him.

He’s panting now, a fist curled in your hair, tugging gently at the roots in a way that prickles.

It’s a good kind of hurt.

He’s close … so close. You can taste it, feel it and hear it. But you’re not done with him yet, and you get the feeling he doesn’t want to be done yet, either. You pop him out of your mouth, licking his pre-cum off your lips, and look up at him, your eyes watery from how hard you were sucking him off.

“Come here,” he murmurs, grabbing you and turning you over so that your back is flat on the cushions again. This time, he doesn’t make you wait. His head is down, between your legs in a matter of seconds, and you feel his tongue slide down your centre.

Your mouth flings open and you moan, brokenly. “Y-Yoongi …”

He eats you out, meticulously and without break. In a matter of seconds, your legs are wrapped around his neck and your hands are in his hair, holding on as he flicks under the hood of your clit with the tip of his tongue. By the time he starts sucking on it, gently but relentlessly, you’re seeing stars.  

It’s barely been ten seconds, and already, you’re coming apart.

“K-Keep going,” You beg him. “P-Please …”

And he does, tonguing you out and bringing shockwaves of orgasmic bliss to every inch of your body.

You cry out, on the verge of passing out from how good it feels.

Yoongi then comes up and kisses you, his lips slick with your arousal. It tastes good, but it feels even better. He cups the back of your head and kisses you deeper, filling your stomach with butterflies and bringing your heart to a slow, steady beat, in sync with his own. You whimper a little as he pulls away, swallowing your protests as he reaches lower, between your bodies, and outlines your warm, wet pussy with the head of his cock.

The air in the room grows thick and dangerously hot, and you look up into his eyes as he slowly pushes inside you.

His lips break apart and he sinks his head into the curve of your neck. “Y-You’re so t-tight,” he chokes out.

You barely register those words, too far gone at this point to even think in sentences — let alone speak in them. He fills you in deep, stretching you, pushing all the way in and then pulling all the way out. You’re so wet at this point, you can hear it. His cock feels so thick and so hard inside you, and the way he rubs against your G-spot with each slow, heavy thrust, drives you mental. You drag your fingernails down his back, marking his pale white skin, as he regains some control and begins to thrust deeper, harder, faster.

Soon enough, he’s fucking you into the springs of the couch, and you’re crying out his name, begging him to fuck you harder.

You’re both sweating now, caught in this moment of pure, unadulterated ecstasy as though the world actually is ending, and it is, in a way.

The reality of the situation hangs in the air, but you try not to think about it. You’re  too deep down this rabbit hole to turn back, and he’s is too deep inside you to stop. It’s a quick, torturous undoing, and it fills your heart with an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time.

You come hard, tightening and twitching around his cock as he kisses you through the orgasm. It’s hot and romantic, and it speaks to all the things he said to you before. Your pussy is pulsing now, incredibly sensitive, but you don’t stop him as he chases his own end. He thrusts into you with an abandon that makes your throat clench around each moan, and then he sharply exhales, shaking as he comes inside you.

The rhythm comes to a slow, grinding halt, and he collapses, completely and utterly spent.

A few seconds later, he shifts his body weight to the back of the couch, and you face each other. It sweeps over you fast, the exhaustion.

The last thing you see before your eyes flutter shut, is Min Yoongi … his mint green hair, his beautiful, ghostly complexion, and his pale pink lips.

You don’t regret it for a second.


	2. Yoongi/Reader - Domino

You enter the elevator just as the doors slide shut, quickly frowning. Min Yoongi is there, standing in the back alone. As usual he doesn’t speak a word to you. In fact you’re half-convinced he has no idea you’re even there. You’ve been invisible to him since you were hired, which, for some inexplicable reason, has always bothered you. As if on cue, he flicks a look at you and smirks; the left corner of his mouth quirking up just enough that you shrink in your flats a little. So he caught you looking at him … whatever … no big deal. For all the jerk knows, he has a piece of food stuck in his teeth. It’s not like there’s much to look at anyway.

By traditional standards he’s a work of art, but all you see when you look at him is a ghostly, albeit well-proportioned, office worker in a dull, black suit. He also has this annoying habit of dying his hair all sorts of colours. This month it’s green. Mint green. Whenever you look at it, you get a strange craving for ice cream, which is reasonably weird, yes, but mint chocolate chip happens to be your go-to.

It’s pretty obsessive, actually.

You lick your lips thinking about it, shrieking as the elevator suddenly screeches to a loud, heart-stopping halt in the middle of the shaft.

On no apparent level, the doors spontaneously open and all you see is a network of cables and metal rods; the wall in the back, dark and made of cement. While you’re clinging to the handlebars on either side for dear life, Yoongi casually steps past you and pushes the call button to speak with someone from maintenance.

“Hello?” he asks, the power in the elevator abruptly flickering out.

You glance up and around, waiting for the fluorescent emergency lights to turn on, but they don’t.

Yoongi shrugs and goes back to his spot. “Well looks like we’re fucked,” he remarks, eerily calm. “Do you have your phone?” he asks, looking to you straight for the first time since you hopped on.

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“I was thinking of ordering a pizza while we wait,” he brightly suggests, only to end with a tight frown. “Call for help, genius.”

Your mouth falls agape. “Do it yourself!”

“I would if I had my phone on me.”

“What kind of person doesn’t keep their phone on them?”

“The kind that sent it in for repair last night,” he retorts.

You grimace, narrowing your eyes at him one last before rummaging through your purse. It’s dark in the elevator so you can’t really see through the mess of makeup, receipts, and various other doodads, but you do eventually find your phone.

“Call reception and tell them where we are,” Yoongi instructs. “They’ll send help.”

“Yes, thank you for that.” His wiseacre attitude distracts you long enough, that you don’t immediately realize your phone battery is dead. You hold the power button a moment, and then another, the colour quickly draining from your face. “Um, we have a slight problem.”

Yoongi snaps a look in your direction, as though he had you labeled as incompetent from the start. “Hand it over,” he says, extending his hand across the narrow space between you two.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Hand it over and let me take a look,” he repeats.

“What’s the point? It’s dead,” You tell him, waving the black screen at him. “See?”

“I want to see for myself.”

You laugh at that. “What, do you not believe me or something? Do you think I _want_ to be to be stuck here with the likes of you?”

The amusement in your eyes tapers away at his approach. You stare at him wide-eyed and feel the handlebar dig into your lower spine as you back into the wall. He stops within inches of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne. It’s subtle and understated, and it fills your senses in a matter of seconds.

You blink, looking up at him as he coolly snatches the phone from your grasp.

Just like that he goes back to his spot, playing around with your phone for a couple of seconds before it tossing it back to you. “Whatever.”

You just barely catch it, frowning at him as you tuck it away. “Jerk.”

“Call me as many names as you want,” he chimes in, stretching his legs across the floor as he sits down. “It doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck here together.”

“How pleasant for you,” You simper at him mockingly, sitting down in your corner.

There’s a moment of silence as both of you get comfortable on the floor, or at least try to. It’s rather hard, and cold, and made of metal.

“Why did you come in so late today anyway?” Yoongi asks. “Aren’t you in the office by sunrise most days?”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting a little. “I had car trouble.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What kind of car trouble?”

“I don’t know. Just regular car trouble,” You blurt, agitatedly. “Someone rear-ended me on the way here.”

His face screws. “You got into an accident?” he asks. “That’s not _regular car trouble_.”

You shrug. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I’m insured. Everything will be taken care of. I just have to hitch a ride off of Hoseok for a couple days.”

“Huh.” Yoongi narrows his eyes in thought. “You get all claustrophobic and twitchy on an elevator, but a car accident doesn’t faze you one bit,” he iterates. “Say, ____, you’re weirder than I thought.”

For a moment you just stare at him, surprised that he knows your name.

“Fine,” You say, leaning forward to talk to him properly. “What fazes you, then?”

He looks at you unperturbed. “Nothing.”  

You snort. “Nothing? Oh, come on. There has to be something.”

“Do shrill editors make the cut?”

Your lips twist into a frown. “I’m not shrill.”

“Who said I was referring to you?” He asks, slyly.

“Whatever.” You lean back again, draping your skirt over your knees as you stretch your legs; neatly placing one on top of the other. “Well, this is fun.”

Yoongi echoes your sentiment, stretching his mouth into a yawn. “Wake me up if it’s important.”

You ignore him, hugging your cardigan tighter as your eyes begin to close. It’s chilly in the elevator, to the point that your teeth begin to chatter. You shift around a bit, trying to get warm, but it’s no use.

On the other side, Yoongi blinks one eye open and looks at you. Without a word, he takes his suit coat off and tosses onto your lap. “Have at it.”

Your eyelids flutter open and you dart a look at him, slightly taken aback by the gesture. “You’re not cold?”

He makes a hand motion as if to brush the notion aside, and then closes his eyes.

You hesitate to touch his coat, unsure as to whether there’s some kind of catch, but the moment he falls asleep, you realize there is no catch; he was just being nice. An unexpected turn of events, but a pleasant one nonetheless. You consider tossing the coat back, but it is awfully cold in the elevator …

You slide your arms into the sleeves and shrug it on, the scent of his cologne now floating around you, interlaced with his lingering body heat. Your teeth stop chattering and you sink into the soft inner lining. Without meaning to you sigh, utterly exhausted after the night you had. You and your boyfriend are on the outs. He more or less broke up with you last night, via text message. Something about, ’ _Long distance doesn’t work for me. We’re no good for each other …_ ’ blah, blah, blah. Embarrassingly enough, you had considered calling in sick and booking a flight straight to London, where he currently lives, but you decided against it this morning, asking the God you’re not sure you believe in to give you a sign. Getting rear-ended on your way to work was enough of a sign. At least it should be. After three years of being together, it’s hard for you to let go completely. Especially when you were blindsided, and especially without an ounce of closure.

The second you glance down, trying to hide the warm wave of moisture in your eyes, Yoongi looks at you.

“You good?” he unexpectedly asks.

You blink up at him, chest hitching as you quickly wipe your eyes. “Yeah, I-I’m fine,” You sputter, looking away to save face.

There’s a moment of silence as he glances off to the side, seemingly out of respect. “So, uh … are you going to the Christmas party tonight?”

For a hot second you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Oh, right. The party. I-I completely forgot,” You utter, suddenly remembering that you had checked yes for a plus one. Being that it’s the holiday season, your boyfriend was supposed to come visit and attend the party with you, as well as celebrate Christmas with your family. Your poor mother had invited him and planned the menu according to his dietary restrictions. The idea of calling her and telling her, ’ _No, the boyfriend I’ve been raving about isn’t coming. All your efforts were for nothing …_ ’ makes you want to hurl. You don’t usually bring boyfriends to family gatherings, especially not Christmas, but this boyfriend was special to you. There was potential for the future, potential that no longer exists.

Suddenly remembering that Yoongi had asked you a question, you shake your head no. “I’m probably just going to stay home. Relax.”

“You should come,” he suggests. “Drink your misery away like the rest of us.”

You look to him, smirking. “What makes you think I’m miserable?”

“Well, for one, you’re willing to turn down free alcohol for some alone time, and for another …” He gently motions to his eyes, communicating the rest with just that one movement.

Cheeks aglow, you turn away, discreetly pressing the tip of your index finger to your tear ducts. Once you start tearing up, it’s hard to stop. You’ve always been that way. “Sorry,” You utter, just because. “Rough day.”

“I figured.”

The lack of arrogance in his tone makes your stomach knot up. _Great_ , you realize. _This asshole pities me._

You release a heavy sigh after, tilting your head far enough back this it rests against the cold, plated wall. “Have you ever been in a long-distance relationship?” You then ask, far too emotionally drained to think clearly.

“No, never. Have you?” he deflects.

“I’m in one right now,” You say. “Or at least I was until last night.”

Yoongi absorbs the information a moment and then asks, ”What happened?“

Before you can answer, the lights in the elevator flicker back on and a voice comes in through the speakers. Without a second of hesitation, Yoongi rises to his feet and speaks to the maintenance staff as they fire off a string of procedural questions to make sure everyone aboard the elevator is safe and sound.

Just like that, it’s over.

* * *

You sit at your desk, staring at the time on your monitor. You have another twenty minutes to go before you can pack your things and go home. Suffice to say you’ve had a bad day. A bad couple of days. First, your boyfriend of three years broke up with you via text message. Second, a truck the size of Optimus Prime rear-ended you at the busiest intersection in the city. Third, you found yourself stuck in an elevator with the likes of Min Yoongi.

And for some inexplicable reason, you don’t completely hate him anymore.

He’s still an arrogant prick, but he’s also kind of nice when he wants to be. Not at all sociopathic. In fact you’re quite sure his opinion of you has changed as well. He smiled at you earlier, after the meeting. At least you think he did. It’s hard to tell with him. He doesn’t really smile with his lips per se. It’s all in his eyes. Those shrewd, calculated eyes.

The second your mouth stretches into a yawn, an e-mail notification pops up on your screen. You grab lazily at your mouse and click, the exhaustion in your muscles quickly melting away as you find _his_ e-mail address glaring back at you.

 

_From: minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_To: yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_Pretty sure the temp has the hots for you. He’s been staring at you on/off for the past hour._

_Min Yoongi_

With a curious twitch in your gut, you discreetly glance over your shoulder to find that he’s right. The temp _is_ staring at you. The hot, single temp that all the girls in the office are obsessed with. Feeling rather bold, you type up a cheeky response, the click of your keyboard punctuating each letter.  

 

 _From:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_How would you know unless you’ve been staring?_

_Your Name_

Three minutes later, a second e-mail notification pops up on your screen.

 

 _From:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_At the temp? He does have nice cheekbones, I suppose …_

_Min Yoongi_

You snort unexpectedly, covering your mouth with your hand as one of the senior editors walks by.

 

 _From:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_You’d make a lovely couple._

_Your Name_

_From:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_I wouldn’t want to deny you the rebound opportunity._

_Min Yoongi_

You stare at that a moment, quickly remembering. _Right. The temp._ Cheeks prickling with embarrassment, you respond.

 

 _From:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_The only rebound I need is Ben and his good friend Jerry._

_Your Name_

Hitting send, you fix a look at the time. Ten minutes left.

 

 _From:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_Word around town is Jack of the Daniels clan will make an appearance at the Christmas Party. I would be more than happy to introduce you._

_Min Yoongi_

You quietly laugh, tapping at the keys a moment later.

 

 _From:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_No need. He and I are on a first name basis._

_Your Name_

_From:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_With so many mutual friends, how is it we’ve only started speaking now?_

_Min Yoongi_

_From:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_Ask yourself._

_Your Name_

_From:_ _minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

 _To:_ _yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_I’ve been asking myself for months, actually._

_Min Yoongi_

You abruptly pause, reading that line twice over. _Was that … is he … could he be … ?_ Before you are able to respond, you glance at the time to see that it’s finally five o’clock. The shuffle of bags and the sound of computers powering off, fills the office all of a sudden.

Everyone’s heading home to get ready for the party.

The party you’re still not sure you want to go to.

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you’re relieved to see that the temp is no longer staring at you. To your surprise, Yoongi soon is. He flicks a look in your direction, catching you mid-lip bite before you turn away, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

For whatever reason you feel like you’re in high school again and one of the popular boys caught you staring at him in the middle of English class.

You shudder at the memory, jumping in your chair as yet another notification blinks in the corner of your screen.

 

_From: minyoongi@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_To: yourname@craftrosepublishing.kr_

_Subject: (empty)_

_If you change your mind about the party, come find me._

_Min Yoongi_

 

 

 

 


	3. Yoongi/Reader - Ebb & Flow

You’re not sure how your best friends convinced you to go clubbing, but they did, and you’re now five shots deep, stumbling into the ladies room as ‘Hello Bitches’ by CL reverberates in the shells of your ears. The door swings closed behind you, muffling the song lyrics as you steady yourself in front of the bathroom mirror. You’ve been dancing all night. Your makeup is smudged, your ears are ringing, and your dress is slightly askew, but the waves in your hair have managed to hold.

It must be late; midnight at the very least. However, the second you glance down to check the time on your phone, it begins to vibrate. A name you haven’t seen in ages flashes across the screen in bright, bold letters. Your heart clenches and the phone slips an inch through your grasp but you hurriedly accept the call, ducking into one of the empty stalls as a group of girls enter the bathroom.

To your luck, they immediately dive into conversation about the boys they’re trying to impress that night.

“Hello?” you cautiously answer, the outside chatter drowning out the sound of your voice. For a split second you wonder if he has pocket-dialled you, the possibility of which makes your heart sink, though you can’t imagine why.

The distant rhythm of ‘Bae Bae’ pulses through your body as you wait in the dim bathroom stall, holding your phone to your ear with both hands to keep it from slipping. There’s music, laughter, and footsteps just outside the door, but the sound of his voice pushes all of that into the background.

“ _____? I know it’s late and you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to call and wish you a happy belated birthday._ ”

You’re quiet for awhile, lips parting. “Thanks,” you say, voice breaking just a little.

“ _Hey_ ,  _you alright?_ ” he asks, in no particular way.

You nod even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve had a bit to drink and I don’t really know where my friends have gone, but … I’m fine.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, as though he’s waiting for you to say something, or contemplating what to say himself, but it’s eventually broken.

“ _Do you want me to come get you?_ ”

“Uh,” You don’t really know what to say. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than rescue me from seedy nightclubs at this hour,” you laugh.

You can tell by the pause in conversation that he’s surprised to hear where you are, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he teases you like he used to.

“ _Depends on how seedy it is._ ”

“Nowhere near as seedy as the cafe where we used to write songs together.”

He laughs. “ _Araso. You’re too fancy for that cafe now. I see how it is._ ”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Says the idol.”

“ _Idol_ rapper _,_ ” he smoothly corrects. “ _On that note, I’m in the studio working on my mixtape right now. If you’re up for it, I can pick you up and we can hang out here for a bit, grab something to eat after … whatever you’re up for, really._ ”

Again, you don’t really know what to say. “The thing is, I’m here with my friends. I don’t think they would appreciate it very much if I just up and left out of the blue.”

He contemplates that for a moment. “ _What about tomorrow?_ ”

“Yoongi-yah …”

“ _Fine, fine,_ ” he says, laughingly. “ _Enjoy the rest of your night, yeah?_ ”

“I will,” you tell him.

**_Two Hours Later_ **

You kick off your heels and sink into bed with your clothes and makeup still on. It’s around three o’clock in the morning, and you know you should try to get some rest, but your thoughts are scattered all over the place. You roll onto your back and scroll through the call history on your phone. The most recent name leaves your stomach in knots, but you’re not entirely sure why. You chew the inside of your lip, thinking of the phone call as your index finger hovers a millimetre or two over his name.

The slightest touch would do it.

 _No_ , your brain tells you. _Go to sleep. Forget about it. You won’t feel this way later._

You know it’s true. You _know_ you’ll regret it in the morning, but the longer you wait, the tighter those knots get.

Fuck it.

On a stupid, thoughtless whim, you click his name and hold the phone to your ear, squeezing your eyes closed.

It rings twice before someone answers.

“ _Eh, paboya. Do you know what time it is?_ ” he asks, despite sounding wide awake.

You crawl under the bed covers, shifting until you’re comfortable. “Time for you to go home, I would imagine. You’re not still at the studio, are you?”

“ _I’m finishing up. I take it you’re home now?_ ”

“Yeah, just got in a moment ago. My ears are still ringing.”

“ _Sounds like you had a good night,_ ” he teases. “ _Meet anyone interesting?_ ”

“What, you mean a guy?” you ask, laughing at the notion. “Not tonight, no.”

“ _Good._ ”

You ignore the flit in your chest. “What’s good about that?”

He sighs. “ _Don’t take this the wrong way, ____-ah, but you’re kind of naive when it comes to men._ ”

Your lip twitches with laughter. “Please elaborate.”

“ _Fine,_ ” he agrees. “ _Do you remember the time I introduced you to Jin-hyung?_ ”

“Yeah, why?”

“ _He thought you were ‘very naturally pretty and cute’ but he didn’t make a move on you because he thought you and I were dating._ ”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what? He said that about me?”

“ _You’re missing the point,_ ” Yoongi deftly interjects. “ _But yes._ ”

“Nice!” You remark, bobbing your head. “The visual thought I was cute.”

There’s a pause on the other end as though Yoongi is rolling his eyes at you. “ _Be less of a shameless fangirl._ ”

You laugh at his expense. “Oh, relax. You know you’re still my bias. After Jimin.”

He cringes. “ _Even you_ saying _the word ‘bias’ is weird_.”

“Definitely,” you agree, sitting up with your back against the headboard.

There’s a gradual pause in the conversation, from where both of you dive deep into separate trains of thought.

Suddenly, he comes right and says it. “ _I’m sorry we lost touch, ____-ah._ ”

Your smile quickly fades, and you sit there quietly a moment. “Don’t be.”

“ _No, I am. It was my fault,_ ” he furthers. “ _I promised you we’d keep in touch after I debuted but I just … I don’t know what happened after that. One schedule after another. I can barely remember the past few years._ ”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, sincerely. “I knew it wouldn’t be the same, and to be totally honest, I was happy when you stopped calling, because it meant you were out there, pursuing your dreams.”

“ _Really?_ ” he asks, a flicker of distance in his voice.

You nod. “Of course, pabo. What kind of friend would I have been if I sat there all upset because you didn’t respond to a random text one afternoon?”

“ _Well, when you put it like that …_ ”

“How else am I supposed to?” you ask. “Don’t get me wrong, it would have been nice if we had actually kept in touch, but the fact is … we didn’t, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” You take a deep breath. “Don’t you agree?”

“ _No_ ,” he answers. “ _Not one bit._ ”

“Why?”

“ _Because …_ ” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “ _Never mind._ ”

Your chest tightens at that. “Say it.”

“ _I can’t._ ”

“You were just about to.”

“ _Yeah, well, if I say it now, I can’t take it back._ ”

“And the concept of that is terrifying to you, isn’t it?” you ask.

“ _Of course it is,_ ” he says back.

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you try to calm down. “Fine. Forget it.”

“ _____-ah. Don’t be like this. We weren’t supposed to argue tonight._ ”

“What exactly was supposed to happen?” you ask him. “I come around the studio, we catch up, grab a bite, and then what?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“We go back to our separate lives and that’s it,” you utter, plainly. “Tell me, Yoongi-yah, what’s the point? Why are you doing this?”

You hear him breathe deeply on the other end.

“ _I miss you,_ ” he admits. “ _I miss being around you, laughing with you, writing with you, just … everything._ ” You can hear it in his voice, the rawness of it all. “ _Damn it, ___-ah. Don’t you know? I was in love with you the whole time._ ”

Your heart clenches tightly, but you don’t say anything.

“ _Jin-hyung knew,_ ” he admits. “ _They all knew. They still know._ ”  

You squeeze your eyes closed again, this time to hold back the warm tears that are pooling around them. “Fuck you.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Fuck you,” you repeat, wiping your eyes with your blanket. “Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been, to see your face and hear your songs everywhere for the past two years, thinking you j-just _forgot_ about me?” you ask, voice breaking. “And then you drop this massive bomb on me, expecting me to what, confess that I was in love with you, too?”

“ ____-ah, that’s not what I was trying to —_ ”

“Because I was,” you cut in, brokenly. Suddenly, there’s silence, but you keep going. “For the past two years I’ve done everything in my power to forget you the way I thought you forgot me, and for a while there I thought I did, but … the moment I saw your name on my phone, every ounce of it came rushing back.” You breathe out, letting go as best you can. “You’re right, by the way. This is fucking terrifying.”

There’s nothing but shifting on his end of the call. For a second you’re in disbelief, thinking he’s been doing something else this entire time, and missed every word of what you just said, but then you hear the click of a turn signal.

“What are you doing?” you blurt.

“ _I’m coming to see you,_ ” he answers, swiftly ending the call.

For a good five or ten minutes after, you’re frozen in a state of complete and utter shock. _He can’t honestly be …_

But he is.

Just as you’re about to call him and urge him to go home, you hear a knock on your door.

Luckily, your roommate decided to spend the night at her boyfriend’s place, or she would certainly have woken up and demanded to know what the hell Suga of BTS was doing at the apartment. You met her only a year ago, in your last term at uni, which means she has absolutely no idea you were once best friends with the Daegu rapper. You’ve neglected to mention it for obvious reasons. Namely, because she’s a hardcore BTS fan, and had a poster of Suga up in her bedroom until very recently. Her bias quickly shifted to Jimin after his stellar ‘Perfect Man’ performance.

In that moment, though, she’s the last person on your mind.

You jump out of bed, tiptoeing to the door to have a look through the peephole. To your horror, he is actually standing there. His hair is a different colour than when you last saw him, and he’s dressed in skinny jeans that are ripped at the knees, but you’re amused to see that his resting bitch-face is still firmly in tact.

It tapers away as you open the door.

He looks at you and you look at him.

For a good, solid moment, neither of you say a word.

You’re left motionless, looking at him in the flesh for the first time in _years_. You’re in such a state of shock that you somehow forget what you’re wearing. It’s only when he glances down, his Adam’s apple quickly dropping as he sees you in a short, black dress, hair in soft waves and traces of makeup clinging to your eyelashes and lips, that you suddenly look away, embarrassed.

“Don’t,” he says, reading your body language as though he’s fluent. “You look nice, pabo.”

You frown. “I have a name.”

Yoongi smirks. “You look nice, ____-ah,” he says. “Ulzzang game: strong.”

You close your eyes, resisting the urge to cringe. “You are such a dork.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he winks.

Your mouth falls open. “I can’t believe you just said th —”

He cuts you off, stepping closer. “Just shut up and let me kiss you already,” he says, the look in his eyes contrasting with the fact that he just told you to shut up.

The words you were about to say, lodge themselves down your throat. You breathe in as he comes closer, and you hold it as he takes your hands in his.

For a second, the two of you stand there like that, enveloped in the dimness of your tiny apartment as if waiting for the other to say or do something. In the second that follows, however, Yoongi brings your hand to his lips and presses them directly over your pulse.

You’re certain he can feel it quicken.

“Is that your move?” you teasingly ask, if only to mask how strongly it affected you.

“No,” he smirks, leaning in so close you can practically taste his minty breath. He obviously popped a piece of chewing gum in before coming to see you, the thought of which cracks you up.

As you part your lips to laugh, however, he brushes a hand under your chin and tilts your head up just enough that you fall silent.

“This is my move,” Yoongi tells you, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a smile before he combs your hair back and kisses you deeply, using every ounce of feeling he’s repressed over the years. In that single motion you know it, but he tells you anyway. “I love you.” 


	4. J-Hope/Reader - dare you

You’re alone in your car, parked a block away from Big Hit. It’s late, an hour to midnight, maybe, and you have a flight to catch at eight, yet there you are … waiting for him in the designated meeting spot. You’re not sure what you imagined would happen when you left your number on his drink tab six weeks ago, but it wasn’t this. Truthfully you don’t listen to his music, and the only reason you left him your number is because your coworker dared you to do it. You had no idea he would actually hit you up. In fact you had forgotten all about him until late last night. 

[A rap song you don’t recognize](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D2psuyyZB9Iw&t=ZGJkNjE5ZTY1MDdjMzQ4NTNhNTNhODUxNDhhOTQxOWE1NWQ2NDFiNCwyOUlIOHFqTA%3D%3D) fills the silence as you scroll those messages for the dozenth time.

  
  


Soyeon is the coworker who dared you to give that Bangtan guy your phone number, and as you soon discovered, the string of text messages sent to your phone last night, weren’t from her.

They were from him.

The song in the background [transitions to another](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DrdxfC-yHIP8&t=MzRjMmU4ZWQyM2I0MDAwMjc2NmFhY2ZmMWJmODllNzEwNmViY2IxOCwyOUlIOHFqTA%3D%3D) as you spot a shadowy figure in your rearview mirror. Someone’s walking towards your car. A guy. You can’t really see his face because his hood is up, but he has the right stature and build. Tall, but not super tall. For a second you panic, a jab of ‘what the fuck am I doing here?’ deep in your gut until the shadowy figure passes by.

You relax.

It wasn’t him.

There’s still time. If you want to go home now, you can. He’s probably inside, working on a dance routine or something. Soyeon mentioned he was the dancer of the group. To be honest, you don’t know that much about him other than his name and that he’s prone to random bursts of aegyo … but you find him weirdly sexy. You watched a few of his music videos prior to driving up there, and you’re a little embarrassed to admit you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him — especially in ‘Danger’. He has this quiet, understated confidence about him when he dances. Sometimes he’s in the back, sometimes he’s in the front. It doesn’t really matter where he’s positioned, because his moves are always so smooth and so clean, and that swift, cocky glint in his eyes tells you he knows his shit is on point.

You clear your throat and tuck your phone away to keep from watching [that one part in the music video](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2Fbagj78IQ3l0%3Ft%3D1m2s&t=YmE1ZThlNjRjYWRhZWZlYTUxODk0YzAyMDM2MmFhMGYzZGFkYWM0MCwyOUlIOHFqTA%3D%3D) again.

For once it’s not raining, so you decide to pop outside the car for a quick breather. Hopefully the fresh air will clear your mind a little bit. Your thoughts have been scattered all over the place since last night.

That in mind, you unbuckle your seatbelt and step outside, shivering.

The weather is brisk, frigid.

You lean against the hood of your car and rub your hands together, breathing into them as you wait. It’s dark outside. The surrounding buildings have all closed for the night. You can’t imagine why anyone would agree to meet a person they don’t know in an area they’ve never been to, but it really isn’t that complicated, is it?

He’s cute, famous, and far too recognizable to meet you in a public place. Naturally, he offered to send a driver to pick you up, but you declined. If you’re going to meet him in what is essentially the back alley of his entertainment company, you’d rather do it in the comfort of your own car.

You can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this. Although the aim of this meeting was never explicitly stated, you’re old enough to know when a guy is trying to fuck.

“____?”

You look to the left, throat clenching as you lay eyes on him. _Wait, when the hell did he get here?! How did I not see him be_ — He jogs over to you, dressed casually, in a pair of jeans, a backwards snapback, and a plain white t-shirt that hangs a few inches lower than his jacket.

“Hey,” he smiles, sliding a hand out of his pocket to greet you. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Just an hour,” you blurt, immediately wishing you had said something else. “ _Well, I mean, not an hour. Maybe, like, forty-five minutes or_ — anyway, hi.” You awkwardly shake hands with him, a twitch of laughter on your bottom lip.

He chuckles in response. “Hi. Sorry for making you wait. I’d have come out sooner, but Namjoon insisted on redoing the hook to the song we’re working on.”

“Namjoon …?”

“Rap Monster,” he clarifies, seemingly unbothered by the fact that you don’t already know.

You quickly nod your head. “Right, yes. The leader guy.”

He laughs. “Yeah, the leader guy.”

“Sorry,” you apologize, embarrassed. “I’m a little out of the loop these days.”

“No worries, no worries,” he tells you. “It’s actually kind of refreshing to meet someone who doesn’t know _everything_.”

“Even the basics?” you jokingly ask.

He smiles, looking at you. “All you need to know is my name is Hoseok and I’m happy you agreed to see me tonight.”

You fall silent at the sound of that, the awkward tension slowly withering away.

“Sorry I didn’t text you sooner, by the way. We’ve been touring for the last little while,” he goes on to explain.

“Oh, that’s okay. I didn’t expect you text me at all, so … yeah.”

“Why is that?” he laughs.

You lift an eyebrow at him as though the answer is obvious. “You’re an idol.”

“So?”

“So … I’m not an idol,” you explain, cracking up at the end. “I just _really_ didn’t expect to hear from you.”

His lips are pursed together and lopsided, hanging on the edge of a smirk. “Well, are you glad you did?”

You glance over at him, cheeks tingling under the weight of the look he’s giving you. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are,” he furthers, losing focus as you bite your bottom lip. His eyes stay there a moment, as if imagining what it would feel like to bite that lip for you.

You suddenly feel warm all over.

There’s a moment of silence — an empty, isolated beat wherein the two of you just stare at each other — before he leans in and kisses you. The impact is swift and firm, and the words you were going to say quickly vanish, dissipating into the foggy, expulsions of air between your lips as he pulls away long enough to utter four short words.

“Your place or mine?”


	5. V/Reader - closer

You’re in bed, awoken by the sound of footsteps. For a quick second you’re worried that someone has broken into your apartment, but the moment you turn around to face the door, you spot your boyfriend shrugging his leather jacket off. He normally doesn’t use the key you gave him, only when he really has to.

He’s been touring around the world for weeks. This is the first you’ve seen of him since the argument you had before he left.

He reaches back and tugs his shirt off, tossing it to the floor with his jacket.

“Taehyung?” you tiredly ask. “What time is —”

The words are swept out of your mouth as he climbs into bed and kisses you with every ounce of feeling he can muster. You’re in shock, body prickling with a blend of heat and shivers as his lips move softly against yours. It’s been weeks. You almost forgot how it feels to kiss him, but he’s quick to remind you.

There’s a sliver of streetlight pouring in from between your sheer, white curtains, illuminating his silhouette as he slowly pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, warming your lips with each syllable. “It was my fault … all of it.”

You blink up at him, looking into his deep, brown eyes for the first time in weeks. For all you know he means every word of his apology and spent the entire six weeks regretting the way he left, but … you can’t just dive back in, not this time.

“Taehyung-ah,” you softly say. “I … we … this isn’t okay. You can’t just waltz in here and kiss it better.”

His Adam’s apple drops at the sound of that. “What can I do?” he asks. “I’ll do anything you want, ____-ah. Anything. I just - I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

“That’s why you’re here?” you inquire, accusingly. “To have sex?”

“What? No, no, no …” He draws you closer as you try to shift away. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he carefully explains. “I didn’t rush all the way here for sex.”  

You grudgingly sigh. “Fine, whatever. Just go to sleep. I have a class in the morning and I can’t afford to stay up all night. Okay?”

He quickly nods. “Okay.”

Without another word, you turn your back to him and slide under the covers, your eyes fluttering shut as he slides in behind you. To your surprise, he doesn’t attempt to kiss or cuddle with you. He just kicks his jeans off and lies down a few inches away, breathing heavily as though he’s just run a marathon.

He’s exhausted.

The tour must have drained all his energy.

You didn’t say anything when he first walked in, but you were quick to notice the heavy, tired circles around his eyes. He’s in a bad way and you felt it from the second he kissed you.

He isn’t just tired.

He’s hurting.  

You quietly turn around, heart beating fast as he wakes up. “Sorry,” you apologize. “I … I didn’t mean to wake you. I just …”

“It’s okay,” he tiredly murmurs, opening his arms to you. “Come.”

The knot in your chest swiftly unravels and you shift closer to him despite yourself, heat swarming your insides as he holds you flush against his body.

You don’t really even remember what the argument was about.

You’re just happy to be close.

You lean in to kiss him, whimpering as he kisses you back.

“Taehyung …”


	6. Rap Monster/Reader - push

You choke on your breath as he pushes into you. “Nnngh …” The width of his cock overwhelms you at first, to the point that your body grows hot and rigid, and your vision starts to blur a little bit, but he slowly eases you into it.

There’s music and laughter just outside the door. If anyone were to walk into the room, they would find you bent over his computer desk, the keyboard digging into your cheek, leaving an imprint on your soft, supple skin. There was no smalltalk … not a moment of preamble before he led you away from the party and into the dimness of his bedroom.

The way he backed you against the wall and kissed you, knocking the wind out of your lungs in the process. Your head is still spinning from the impact, shrouded in hot, smoky pleasure as he yanks you up and claps a hand over your mouth, smothering your deep, guttural moans.

You tighten around him as a result. The quiet ache of being filled so deeply makes you sweat all over. Your cries are broken and muffled, and your back is arched, the sleeves of your dress sinking down your shoulders as he thrusts into you. The seams along the side are torn just a little, and every now and then you hear the gentle snap of another thread. He holds you firmly against him, familiarizing himself with every curve and every inch of your body. You whimper as he slides a hand between your legs, tugging on your panties with such force, it’s a miracle they’re still in tact. There was no time to take them off, no time to strip away the layers between you. Just a couple yanks and tears before he was inside you, pushing into your tight, warm cunt as you hurriedly grasped the edge of the desk, biting down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out too loud.

“____,” he says to you, curving his fingers around your neck as he whispers your name in that raspy voice. “Do you know how tight you are?”

You shudder as you hear that, flinging an arm backward and tugging on the roots of his hair as he makes you come. It hits you hard and fast, traveling marrow-deep and back to the surface. Over and over again. Your body spasms in response, twitching hard as you beg him never to stop.

The sound and feeling of you losing control like that is all he needs to follow you over the edge. Every shape, sound and sensation blends together. You’re not thinking about how or why, or even where. The only thought that crosses your mind is _when_.


	7. Jin/Reader - at least he's cute

You slide into the front passenger seat of Seokjin’s car and buckle in, the corners of your mouth stretching into yawn as he smirks at you.

“What?” You pointedly ask.

“Oh, nothing,” he decides, smiling as he smoothly backs out of your driveway. “I’ve just never seen you in a dress before. You look nice.”

You frown at that, glancing down at your attire. It’s yours and Seokjin’s fifth date as a virtual couple. So far, the audience doesn’t really care for your segments. They adore Seokjin, of course, but you only debuted a year ago and must therefore work extra hard to earn audience approval. Apparently, earning their approval involves looking pretty and dressing up to prove you’re indeed a woman. You normally opt for comfort over style, but the producers insisted on a sexier, more feminine look for your fifth date.  

To your knowledge, it’s just dinner and a movie, so you’re not entirely sure why the dress is necessary but you’re willing to play along if it’ll boost your career. Suffice to say, Seokjin is nowhere near your type. He’s the square peg to your round hole, and you’ve no idea why the producers paired you together, but you imagine it’s because you’re close in age.

 _At least he’s cute_.

As if to confirm, you turn your head to look at him and fix your lips into a smile as he looks back at you. Those soft, sweet moments of couple telepathy are exactly the kind of thing the audience lives for. It’s like a crack addiction. You swear the ratings would be higher if you called him Oppa, but he’s actually two months _younger_ than you, so the possibility of that was immediately tossed out the window.

The light at the intersection turns red and he pulls the car to a slow stop, casually placing his hand on top of yours as you reach for your Iced Latte in the cup holder. You look at him very briefly, surprised by the skin-ship. Due to his popularity, he’s usually quite hesitant to touch you, having to ease his fans into the concept, even if it’s fake, but you imagine the producers had a word with him prior to filming.

Skin-ship is a surefire way to boost ratings.

“____-ah,” he begins, speaking your name as though he’s done it a million times, in a million different ways. “I saw your drama on tv last night. Your costar was awfully touchy with you in that one scene, wasn’t he?”

_Oh, dear Lord. Is this our dialogue for today?_

You smile sweetly at him. “It’s just work, Seokjin-ah.”

“I know, but does it have to look so natural?”

“Of course,” you tell him. “I’m an actress, remember?”

“I guess you’re a better actress than I thought,” he teases.

You narrow your eyes at him.

Seokjin snorts with laughter. “Ani, ani, ani … I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly explains, giving your hand a light squeeze. “All I’m saying is, you’re such a talented actress, I’m worried your costar might get the wrong idea.”

“Quick save by Kim Seokjin,” you joke.  

He grins as he looks to you. “I’m serious. What if your costar actually wants to date you in real life?”

You sigh deeply. “Seokjin-ah … My costar is married. This topic is a little burdensome for him and his wife, don’t you think?”

“What about my wife?” he playfully asks.

“Oh, don’t worry about her,” you say. “She’s a professional. She’s knows _exactly_ how to separate business from pleasure.”

“Does she now?” he furthers, looking at you in no particular way. “I’m quite bad at that.”

You fall silent, lifting an eyebrow at him as he pulls into the parking lot of your next location.

The film crew is already there, waiting.

To be quite honest, you’re a little shocked you didn’t pick up on the subtext sooner.


	8. Luhan/Sehun - 3AM

Sehun wakes up in a daze, reaching for his phone to see who’s calling in the middle of the night. The name _Luhan_ flashes back at him, casting a pale blue glow over his eyes as they dampen with shock.

On the other side of the bedroom, Suho stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake. In order to keep that from happening, Sehun ducks out, into the hallway, and quietly holds the phone to his ear.

“H-hello?”

The silence on the other end of the call is quickly broken.

“ _Sehun? It’s me, Luhan. I-I can’t talk for long but … I just wanted to call and see how you’re doing. Sorry if I woke you up, by the way. I probably should have called earlier in the day but I … I wasn’t sure if you’d answer with the other members around._ ”

Sehun blinks it all back, startled to hear his voice again. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, darting a look around the dark, empty hallway to make sure the other members are all tucked away in their bedrooms. That’s why. 

Luhan doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “ _Never mind that. How are you? It’s been a long time._ ”

“I-I’m good,” Sehun tells him, leaning against the wall, his silhouette aglow against the street light pouring in through the window. “How are you?”

“ _Better,_ ” Luhan carefully answers, leaving Sehun to fill in the blanks. “ _I-I know this is a strange of me to ask, but … I’m going to be in Korea very soon. If you want to meet for a drink or … or lunch or something … we …_ ”

“Of course I want to,” the younger boy cuts in.

There’s a beat of silence on Luhan’s end. He doesn’t say anything.

“The fans will go insane if they find out,” Sehun adds, the corner of his mouth lifting up, into a smirk.

“ _What do they call us again?_ ” Luhan asks, running with it. “ _Hunhan?_ ”

Sehun laughs. “Yeah. Hunhan. It doesn’t sound as good as Chanbaek or Kaisoo, does it?”

“ _I don’t know. I kind of like it,_ ” Luhan admits.

Sehun is surprised to hear that.

“ _Anyway, I guess I should go now. You’re probably tired,_ ” he furthers.

“I can stay up a little longer,” Sehun offers, throwing a line for whatever reason.

“ _I’d really like to talk some more, but I have a flight to catch in a few hours and I haven’t packed yet,_ ” Luhan admits. “ _Next time, though._ ”

Sehun’s heart sinks. “Okay, next time sounds good,” he says nonetheless.

“ _Sehun?_ ”

“Yes?”

“ _Stay in touch, okay?_ ”

“I will,” he says, quietly. There’s a bit of shifting on the other end, and then it abruptly stops. The call goes dead silent. His insides jump. “Luhan? Hyung, are you still th —?”

“ _I’m here_ ,” Luhan interjects, calmly. “ _Have a good rest, okay? We’ll have bubble tea soon._ ”

Sehun is embarrassed by how excited he is to hear that. “Okay. I’ll … we’ll text.”

Luhan laughs. “ _We will. Goodnight, Sehun-ah_.”

“Goodnight,” he says back, tightly clutching his phone even after the call is over.


	9. G-Dragon/Reader - mercy

_Inhale_

You nod hello to the doorman on your way inside. The lobby is warm, decorated in soft, neutral tones. There are several guests lined up to speak with concierge, but you calmly pass by, slowing as you reach the elevator. The doors swoosh open a moment later, and you’re relieved to find that it’s empty. You step on, grasping your thin, black clutch as to disentangle the slender knot of tension in your chest.  

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement.

Your roommate asked where you were off to when you left the apartment forty minutes ago, but you cheated your way through that conversation as you have countless others. A drop of remorse trickles down your heart, but you ignore it. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

That’s what you tell yourself every time you get a call from J.

Your lips dry out at the thought, and you run your tongue between them as the elevator doors slide open.

The corridor is slim and dimly lit.

There’s just one room on this floor of the hotel.

You release the breath you’ve been holding in, every inch of your body growing hot and tense as you make your way towards the door labeled _Penthouse_.

It stands ajar roughly an inch or two.

You hover in front of it, heart clenching as you hear footsteps on the other side. They’re light but firm, steady but unpredictable …

In so many ways you want to turn back and disappear behind those elevator doors, but in so many ways you can’t.

You need this just as badly as he does.

The door opens wider, and on the other side, is J.

His fashion is wild, crazy, but the look in his eyes is heavy … dark.

Your pulse quickens as he pans a look down your body. Suddenly you feel naked, powerfully exposed under the weight of that stare.

He doesn’t speak a word to you.

He simply takes you by the hand and pulls you through the doorway, leaving it completely ajar as you stumble behind him, into the bedroom.

_Exhale_

You leave a trail of clothing in your wake, and you pray to God that he shows you no mercy tonight. 


End file.
